Phil Coulson: Agent of SHIELD
by RFrost
Summary: In the shadows of the Monaco underground an auction is set to take place with a single item up for grabs: a weapon of unspeakable power. Phil Coulson has been assigned to acquire this mysterious artifact but will he be able to claim it before Monte Carlo claims him instead? Rated M for implied drug use, adult language, and general grown-up situations. You'll see.
1. Début

_My very first offering for you kind folks. Just FYI, I work a 9-to-5 but I'm going to endeavor to post at least once very two weeks, mostly because I'd like to keep the quality of my writing as high as possible with the limited time I have. Feedback is always appreciated and I have a thick skin, so let me have it._

_Oh, right. Standard disclaimers apply. I don't own any of these characters, Marvel (and I suppose now the Mouse) does, etc., etc. Enjoy!_

* * *

"Could you please pay attention to me, just for a little while?" Roland asked his sister. His waning patience affected his tone of voice quite clearly and his exasperation with her always pushed just the right buttons with Valeria. She may have been the older twin but Roland was by far the more mature of the pair, or perhaps he was just more willing to be the responsible one.

Valeria sat up straight, whipping her long brown hair into the air and backwards between her and the back of the plush couch before she wiped her nose and sniffed sharply, "How long have you been there?" She asked, setting a short straw down her lap as she felt the powder begin to affect her.

"I've been trying to get your attention for five minutes now. Have you heard a single word that I've said?" Roland pressed.

She lifted an eyebrow and scrunched up her mouth on the opposite side, "What do you think?"

Roland snorted out of frustration and pushed himself off the overstuffed and studded leather chair. "Typical." He spat before turning towards the liquor cabinet against the wall. It, like all of the furnishings in their home, was lacquered blond wood in construction and baroque in design, not to mention inherited like the building itself. Roland opened the windowed panels and withdrew a wine stem and a dusty bottle that he'd opened a few hours earlier. "We have a genuine problem, Val," he condescended as he poured a rather generous drink for himself, "and you're too busy snorting us closer to bankruptcy to care."

Valeria sighed and brushed her nose out of habit, "Where you always this melodramatic? We're fine, _baby brother_! Grandpapa's wealth was too extensive for us to be worrying about that yet."

"But that's where you're wrong." Roland said while he turned back to face her. He brought the open bottle with him, set it among her bags, mirror, and razor blade on the table between them, and sat down in the same chair he'd previously vacated. He crossed his legs and kept eye contact with her while he drank, wondering just how much longer she'd remain cogent enough to converse with before her mind became preoccupied with... whatever it was she thought about while she was high. "Fletcher was just 'round, wanted to talk about the state of our inheritance. Care to guess the tone of the conversation?"

Valeria groaned and leaned forward to reach for her mirror and razor. "No, but I presume you're about to tell me so why don't we cut to the chase?"

Roland looked down his nose at his sister as she methodically swept the cocaine into a small square before clapping the razor against the glass. _What a pointlessly filthy habit._ He thought as he sipped again from his glass. "We're nearly broke, Val. We've run through eighty percent of the liquid assets that Grandpapa left us and at the rate you're going we'll be penniless within a week!"

Valeria rolled her eyes behind the hair that had fallen over her head and blocked her brother's view of her face. "Please. As if this is any more expensive than your cellar full of bottles of rotten juice. How many cases did you procure earlier this month? Sixty, was it?"

Roland's nose scrunched as though his glass of wine had suddenly turned to vinegar. He set it down next to the bottle and stood up, moving to one of the floor-to-ceiling arched windows. Next to the house was their disused private vineyard but beyond that was the outskirts of Paris herself. On a clear night it was even possible to see the glow emanated by the City of Light. "I suppose we both have our... hobbies." He tapped his foot unconsciously and only stopped when he noticed that his tapping and her chopping synced up. "In any case we have a problem and we need a solution. We don't have many options, Val. We need to talk about this."

She sighed but didn't stop working on creating neat little lines for her eventual consumption, "But it's so boring, Ro! Why don't we just... I don't know, just auction off a chunk of that wine cellar? Wasn't that what you said at first? That it was an 'investment'?" She said flippantly, trying to dissuade him from pressing the subject by offering a solution that he certainly wouldn't think was at all acceptable. She carried on sweeping with a smirk on her face when he didn't respond at once. _Got him, thank Christ_.

Roland stared out over the French countryside while his sister's words sank in. _Auction off the wine. Auction off... hmm._ "You know what, sis? I think you may be onto something." The tapping stopped immediately.

Valeria spun around on the couch to face her brother. Had that drink already gone to his head? "Did you just agree to sell your bloody great collection of wine?"

"Like hell," Roland snorted, "but we do have one thing to sell that neither of us care for..."

Valeria took a moment to think about what he meant and had she been sober it would have hit her sooner. Still, eventually, she came around to the realization he was waiting for. "You mean..." Roland turned around and raised his eyebrows, "I don't know, Ro. Grandpapa said we shouldn't ever let anyone know we have it."

"Then we'll let Fletcher handle it for us, won't we?" Roland started walking back to his seat.

"He's a lawyer, Roland, not Christie's." Valeria said, her face following him.

"And exactly how do you think that gem came to be in Grandpapa's possession?" Roland said as he sat down and picked up his glass again, swirling it and inhaling the aroma appreciatively. "He told me a bit about it; I think it's worth far more than we can imagine." He continued before leaning forward and lowering his voice a bit, speaking as though he was dangling a treat in front of a pet, "It might be worth enough to put off us having this conversation again for a long time."

Valeria set her jaw and stared at him, her body still for the first time in hours. "How long?"

Roland's lips spread into a rather sinister smile. He spoke, hesitating between each word for emphasis, "A very long time, dear sister."

-x-

* * *

-x-

The droning of the engines. A flat, persistent, metallic, inescapable hum. It's the first thing you notice the first time you go below deck of the Helicarrier and it's also the first thing you learn to ignore. It doesn't take long to get use to it but it does take a considerable amount of time before one learns to hear through it. Not many of the ships normal complement of five hundred had spent enough time on-board to attain particular skill but Phil Coulson had, which is why he was able to hear the footfalls and thereby recognize the gait of the woman he was about to meet where her hallway intersected with his.

"Just starting your shift?" He asked before either of them could see the other.

"Just ending, where have you been?" Maria Hill said, though it was barely audible through her yawning.

"China." Phil said simply as they fell into stride next to one another in the long, harshly-lit corridor that looked just like every other. It was easy to get lost in the Helicarrier but Coulson knew they were headed towards her destination and not his. _I can backtrack. We haven't gotten to talk much since that interrogation in Louisiana._

"Oooh, the Middle Kingdom." Maria said with mock envy, "Operation Renegade?"

Phil nodded, "Everything went according to plan. Except for the fire..." he trailed off a bit as images of the impossible things he'd seen flashed through his mind. Impossible, it seemed, was the constant norm for agents of SHIELD. "Still, the next phase is prepped."

"Excellent." Maria said, rubbing her neck and rolling her head a bit to stretch her tense muscles. "Looking forward to your leave?" She asked, stifling yet another yawn as they drew closer to the command crew quarters.

"Maui this time. It's been too long since the last time I stood on the ocean." Phil explained with an excited grin. "Is your neck still bothering you?" He asked his friend. Maria nodded as they approached the door to her private quarters. She pressed her palm against the scanner on the wall and leaned forward to allow the retinal scanner to positively identify her. The door beeped pleasantly and slid open with a woosh before she set her foot over the threshold so it would remain open while they finished their conversation.

"Try the trick I told you about- with the pillows? Remember? I swear it'll straighten your neck right out." Phil said as he glanced into her room. It was larger than his but not by much and equally as spartan. One wall was nothing more than a desk under a cubby hole that contained a bed while the other was a tall armoire with three pull-out drawers on the bottom containing sets of Maria's uniforms. Next to that was a door that led to a small private bathroom. Simple and perhaps slightly cramped but these weren't meant to be a permanent living situation for anyone aboard. Phil wondered what the Director's room looked like as he was the only person on the ship who outranked Hill. Was it a carbon copy of this or did he perhaps have the luxury of cushions on his furniture?

"This is the first opportunity I've had to try your advice, but here's hoping you're right." Maria said, holding up a hand with her index and middle fingers crossed. "If I don't see you before you escape have a good time." She said with a smile, her eyelids starting to droop a bit.

"Thanks," Phil said as he started backing away to head for the Director's office, "Sleep tight, Commander." Phil said, his tone when he said her rank more tongue-in-cheek than respectful.

Maria rolled her eyes and shook her head at Phil as she spun herself into her quarters, the door sliding shut behind her. The two of them had worked together for quite a while and they had become fast friends a long time ago and when Maria was promoted to second-in-command of SHIELD Phil spent a full week mocking her new position (when there wasn't anyone else around, of course) and still did on occasion just to prod her a bit.

Phil was also under consideration for that particular post and even though she was promoted over him he didn't envy her. He was, in fact, dreading the possibility of having to leave field work behind far more than he was looking forward to the idea of more responsibility. Maria was just as capable (if not more so) than Phil in the field but a mind like hers was wasted without command responsibility, so in the end everyone ended up where they ought to have been. _A rarity in any branch of the military,_ Phil had remarked at the time.

Director Fury had made no bones about the reasons for his decision going so far as to cite a lack of instances of insubordination in Phil's record. Not traditionally a sought-after quality in someone up for promotion but Fury wasn't one to stand on ceremony. While he strode through the metal hallways Phil wondered idly why the Director had ordered him to appear in his office since he had finished filing his last report and been debriefed during his return flight. Being asked to make an in-person appearance made him a little nervous about the status of his pending vacation. _Probably best not to bring it up..._ He thought as he tapped the call button next to Fury's office door.

The two halves of the door disappeared into the surrounding walls with the same muffled whoosh revealing a room about twice the size of Hill's quarters. The wall opposite the door was nearly entirely bomb-proof glass set at a forty-five degree angle so the ceiling extended out over the floor. Fury's desk sat on the left side of the room, behind which was a circular SHIELD logo no less than seven feet in diameter affixed to the wall. On one side of that was a number of decorative duplicates of some of Fury's commendations from his time in the Army. Coulson stepped inside to find Jasper Sitwell seated in a chair between him and the desk, a stack of folders and papers piled on his lap.

"Welcome back." Fury said to Coulson from where he stood next to his desk, looking out the windows at the clouds below. "Nice work."

"My pleasure, boss." Phil said as he walked up behind the empty seat next to Sitwell.

"I'm sorry to do this to you, Phil, but I can't let you take your leave yet." Fury said as he turned around to face the other men. His voice conveyed little of the remorse he claimed to feel but Fury wasn't a man to beat around the bush. "Something's come up. Why don't you take a seat."

Phil winced inwardly at the news, thankful that at the very least Fury was a direct man. He stepped around the chair and remained silent while he sat down and quickly calculated how much he'd end up spending in cancellation fees. Trying to get accounting to reimburse for things like that was always a toss up. Phil leaned back in his seat but Fury remained standing.

"We have intel that indicates an auction is going to take place in two weeks in Monaco. Only one item up for bid and it's important that we acquire it." Fury said, looking at Phil with his one remaining eye.

"Right." Phil said, pushing his personal finances out of his mind, "What are we looking at? Stolen classified information? Human trafficking?"

"A weapon." Sitwell answered, looking to Fury for permission to elaborate. The Director nodded and Jasper continued, "Not in the traditional sense, though. And not a traditional power level, either."

"Nukes?" Phil asked.

"No. This is more... mythical in nature." Jasper said, sounding a little uneasy. Sitwell had been with SHIELD for five or six years already but had only recently been promoted to the point where he had clearance for the more unusual things that fell under SHIELD's purview.

Phil was unfazed, "Another extraterrestrial artifact?" He asked.

"We aren't sure." Fury answered, preempting an explanation from Sitwell that would likely have drug on. "All we know for certain is that this weapon isn't something we want falling into the hands of someone who's willing to use it." He pulled out his chair and sat down before turning to Sitwell, "Good work on this, Sitwell, you're excused. Leave the intel behind and tell Malcolm I expect him here at seventeen hundred." He said, genuine and direct.

"Yes, sir." Jasper said quickly, setting the stack of data on his desk carefully before standing and nodding to both men. " Good luck, Phil."He added. Phil thanked Jasper and the bespectacled man put a friendly hand on Phil's shoulder as he walked by to leave the room, heading for the bridge.

Fury waited for the door to close before speaking again, "This one gives me a bad feeling, Phil. I watched some hard men piss themselves when we asked about what was being sold in Monaco."

"Does it belong to someone who's shitlist we don't want to join?" Phil asked, crossing his legs.

"No, and that's what worries me the most." Fury answered, leaning back in his chair and swiveling it to the side to better face Coulson. "This isn't like Mjolnir or Tony's suit where only one man can weild it effectively; everything we've heard about this thing, which admittedly isn't much, makes it sound like the perfect universal world-ender."

Phil ran a hand through his thinning hair and considered Fury's words. _If this thing's got Fury this spooked I guess I really do need to postpone the trip._ "Two weeks, you said?"

Fury nodded, "Just enough time to set up your cover and get you in."

"In? You mean as a bidder?" Phil asked, confused as to why this wasn't a more direct smash and grab job.

"I do. We need that weapon but I want as little evidence as possible that it's in our hands. Your expense account will include cash meant for the auction." Fury explained.

"Guess I'll need to brush up on my etiquette." Phil said, not without an edge of humor, "What kind of money are we talking about?"

"The bean counters tell me we can spare two hundred and fifty thousand." Fury answered.

Phil frowned slightly, "What if that isn't enough?"

The Director shrugged, "Then you bring back the weapon wrapped in a quarter million dollars."

Coulson nodded, considering just how likely that outcome might be. "Understood, boss."


	2. Arrivée

"Here we are, Monsieur, Le Hotel Metropole. Monaco's finest!" The cab driver announced in heavily accented English as the twenty-year-old cab bounced to a stop next to the bellhop station.

Coulson thanked the driver and tipped him generously as a bellman opened his door for him. _Why do I get the impression you say that about every hotel to every fare?_ He mused to himself while a second bellman removed a solitary bag of luggage from the trunk. Coulson grasped the handle of the briefcase sitting in the seat next to him and got out, handing the bellman at his door a ten Euro note.

"Merci, Monsieur. Êtes-vous le check-in?" The bellman asked while he deftly palmed the tip and pocket it without looking at it.

"In English, please." Phil answered tersely and without looking directly at the bellman. He spoke French passably but decided to avoid using it whenever possible while he was coming up with his cover: that of a particularly wealthy man in the employ of a mysterious and reclusive billionaire. His French sounded far too uneducated for a man of such means so instead he opted to portray a more stereotypical rich American in a foreign country; not rude per se but definitely unrelenting in the pursuit of his own comfort.

"Of course, sir, apologies." The bellman replied, sincerely, "If you are checking in I can direct you to the front desk."

Phil looked from the classic French architecture of the building's facade into the lobby through the revolving doors. "Fine." He said, waiting for the bellman to lead the way with his luggage. The other bellman had placed the bag on an ornate gold luggage trolley which Phil's current bellman guided through the doors to the lobby with a practiced efficiency that only came with many years of experience.

The interior decor matched the exterior for the most part with a few more modern aspects here and there; claw-foot couches with overstuffed and striped cushions somehow seeming right at home next to more streamlined tables and low-lighting fixtures. Overall the place exuded a luxurious and pompous atmosphere which made Phil a bit uncomfortable. He didn't often need to act under cover but when he did he never opted to assume the guise of a wealthy man if he could avoid it. Simple things like letting someone else carry his bag for him made him feel like a complete jackass.

"Welcome to the Hotel Metropole, sir. How can I help you today?" The dark-haired woman behind the desk asked, correctly guessing that she should speak in English, as Phil drew close enough to make it obvious that she was his intended destination. _Probably read it in my body language._ Phil considered before answering her.

"Checking in." He said as he reached into his jacket pocket to withdraw a passport and check-in confirmation, both listing the name Patrick Collins.

"Wonderful, mister Collins." The woman said after a quick glance at his false credentials. "Your room is prepared and ready for you, 914." She continued, setting down a paper sleeve with two plastic key cards and a pamphlet of welcome information on the counter between them. She held onto his passport and confirmation while she typed rapidly into the computer hidden beneath the top of the desk. "Ah, I see we have a package waiting for you. Would you like me to retrieve it for you now or would you prefer we send someone up to deliver it later?"

Phil's stomach felt suddenly hollow. "I'll take it now." he said, hiding the curiosity and dread that he felt with a disinterested tone. _Who knows that I'm staying here?_

"Absolutely, just a moment." She replied, handing back his passport and confirmation before disappearing into a room behind the desk. A few seconds later she returned, carrying a small manila envelope, the kind one closes by wrapping a string around a stud. "Here you are, Mister Collins. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Phil took the package but couldn't recognize the contents by feel alone. "No, that's all." He said turning and walking from the desk before the woman could even begin to say goodbye and that she hoped he enjoyed his stay. He noticed the bellman giving her a look and a slight shrug as if to say, 'This guy. Right?.'

Phil heard the trolley start to roll behind him shortly thereafter. _Guess I'm playing the part well enough._ Phil thought while he headed straight for the elevators. His grip on the envelope tightened a bit to test the mystery object's firmness and he lifted his arm to try to accurately gauge its weight. _Small, less than half a pound, not much give... if it's an explosive it's inside some kind of shell._ He shook it back and forth slowly and casually, outwardly seeming more concerned with the floor indicator on the elevator than the object in his hand. _There's a spool of something in there with a block on the end but it isn't connected to the other thing. Could this be last-minute supplies?_ Phil banished the thought nearly immediately. Fury had never sent him off on a job less than fully prepared in the past, nor was this his typical method of contact.

The elevator doors directly in front of Phil slid open silently revealing an elderly couple in full formal attire, arm-in-arm with one another. The white-haired gentleman smiled at Phil, "Good afternoon." he said cordially as they passed him on their way out of the lift. Phil had to suppress his instinct to smile and return their greeting. Instead he stared coldly ahead and boarded the elevator followed closely by the bellman with his luggage. Phil waited for the other man to press the button for the ninth floor and checked his watch. Thirteen hundred thirty and he still hadn't even had breakfast, let alone lunch.

Nine stories passed quickly but with his thoughts preoccupied by the potentially hazardous contents of the package he carried Phil nearly jumped when the elevator dinged to announce that they'd arrived. Phil exited quickly, trying to play off his jumpiness as desire to quickly find his room. He paid careful attention to the layout of the hallways just as he had earlier in the lobby, noting each potentially useful feature for future reference. From the windows next to the bank of elevators to the fact that a stairwell was only just around the corner to the contents of the vases that stood on the decorative furniture that was peppered throughout the hallways nothing was too seemingly insignificant to ignore. Both training and experience had taught him that lesson well.

They reached his room before even making it to the first turn in the hallway, making Phil thankful that he had already memorized the layout of the floors containing guest rooms when they reached his. No one would question an innocuous-looking guest walking around the public areas of the floor where he was staying but it was decidedly out of character if he had the unfortunate luck of running into someone for whom that mattered. He withdrew one of the key cards from his jacket pocket and swiped it through the door handle mechanism, turning a red light to flashing green in the process. He heard the bolt disengage with a muffled _clunk_ and he turned the handle and pushed the door inward. He walked in without bothering to hold the door for the bellman who had to jut out one of his feet to stop the door before he could enter as well.

Phil walked straight to the small desk where he set down the briefcase and the package before emptying the contents of his jacket pocket as well. "There you are, sir. Do you require any further assistance?" the bellman asked after setting Phil's bag down on a luggage rack.

Phil turned to the man and handed him another ten Euro note. "No, you can go." The bellman smiled professionally as he pocketed the tip, thanking Phil one last time before leaving him alone in room 914.

Phil turned the lock on the door and spun around, eyeing the manila envelope. _The only person outside of SHIELD that know you're here is the auctioneer. The buyer wouldn't want a potential customer bombed or poisoned._ Phil thought as he approached the package. _Unless they somehow knew you were here to steal it if necessary..._

He picked it up and put it to his ear but registered complete silence from behind the thick paper. He set it back on the desk and inspected the stud around which the red string was wound to keep the flap shut. After a few moments he realized that if there was some kind of explosive inside the string, stud, and flap weren't the trigger mechanisms. He unwound the end of the string slowly and slid his fingers underneath the flap to push it open once the string was free of the stud, and then he lifted the opposite end of the envelope and let the contents slide out onto the table.

A cell phone (a black Nokia, the kind that were so popular in the nineties due in large part to their reputation for being nigh indestructible) and charging cable. When it hit the table it landed keypad down and Phil released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding when he picked up the phone and turned it face up to see that the device was on and not exploding in his hand. Suddenly and as if it knew it was being handled at that moment the phone beeped loudly five times and in rapid succession.

Phil's pulse doubled before the phone had stopped making noise. His mind raced with thoughts of what to do with the thing in his hand before it took his life. Throw it through the open doorway to the bathroom, hoping that it lands in the large, metal bathtub before taking cover behind the bed? Dropping the phone and running to hide in the bathtub himself? Hurling it through one of the small window panes in the french doors that led to his balcony and pray that it explodes before it falls far enough to kill anyone below? Phil's eyes focused on the device's screen again.

_1 new message..._

Perhaps a full second had passed and a calm realization washed over him. There was no danger after all, just a text message.

_Bar balcony overlooking the track, 1800h. Man with a green drink._

Phil checked his watch against the clock at the top of the phone's screen. Both matched one another. He had just over four hours before he had to meet the man with the green drink and dubious preference in communication methods. _Maybe the danger hasn't passed after all._


End file.
